Beyond the Limit
by MrsThreepwood
Summary: John's tired of Sherlock quitting their sexy time too often. Things get kind of out of hand. Lots of smut. It's a sequel to 'A not quite asexual Sherlock' but can be read as a stand alone as well.


**Warning: heavy BDSM – potential triggers for some!**

**Hope you enjoy this little piece of porn. :) Reviews would be awesome :D**

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Actually John couldn't have been any happier. It had been eight months since they'd discovered Sherlock's _very _submissive side and now their quality in sex life matched the rest of their relationship: it was amazing, passionate and all in all breath-taking.

There was one thing though, which made it quite complicated on some days: when they had a case, Sherlock's mind tended to wander off very quickly and he overused their safewords. They'd agreed on the stop light system some time ago, after John had done some research on the topic. One evening he had explained: "Look, Sherlock, that's how it rolls. If everything's fine and I ask you for a reaction, you'll use 'green'. If you want me to stop the action I'm doing because it hurts too much or you feel too used, you might use 'yellow'. And if you're about to panic and want to end the situation completely, it's 'red'. It that fine for you?". Sherlock thought about it for some seconds before he finally answered. "Sounds like a pretty solid system to me and as I see it, it will work for us."

At first it did but then Sherlock ended up saying "Red." far too often. It left John frustrated since there was no real other way to have sex with his lover.

Now it had been two weeks without any kind of intimate contact between them besides some light kisses now and then. John didn't want to provoke another red light incident and kept his hands to himself. That was, until they worked on a crime scene together and Sherlock behaved like an arse again.

"Oh, come on, George. You must have seen it, haven't you? For god's sake, open your bloody eyes and start to observe!", the tall detective ranted.

"First of all, it's Greg, not George. And if I had seen it, I wouldn't have called you. So tell me what's going on here or all I'll give you are cases rated 4 or lower on your scale."

Sherlock snorted. "Wouldn't surprise me at all. Your division isn't capable of solving anything about a two. You even..."

A sharp voice stopped him right in the middle of his sentence.

"Sherlock. Tell him what you've deduced probably already ten minutes ago. Right now." There it was, the Captain Watson voice again though nobody except Sherlock knew the real meaning of it.

The detective sighed and spoke with a clear matter of fact voice. "The brother. It was the brother. I'll spare you the details here. Just ask the victim's brother about his shoes. He'll probably confess everything then."

Lestrade nodded and did as he was told, leaving Sherlock and John with the rest of the Yarders at the scene.

"Well, I guess the deed is done here. Let's go home. We could get some..."

"Stop it, Sherlock. Hail us a cab. Don't speak. Not a word."

The ride home to Baker Street was in fact wrapped in silence between the two men. When John opened the door to their flat he shot Sherlock a look. Any other human being hadn't seen the unspoken question in those blue eyes, but Sherlock – being the brilliant genius he was – simply nodded.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Sherlock felt himself pushed against a near wall.

"You utter little shit. I tried to educate you properly but you still fail to be nice to other human beings."

"I'm sorry."

A slap hit the taller man's cheek.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Captain."

"That's right. Now it's time to show what it means when you behave like a spoilt brat."

There was already a light shade of pink forming on the slapped cheek. Sherlock's eyes were wide, pupils dilated from arousal and anticipation. He knew he had acted really badly towards Lestrade so this time he wouldn't be let off with a bit of spanking.

A strong hand found it's way to Sherlock's throat and the grip tightened immediately. That was one of the considerable advantages of John being a trained doctor: He found sensitive spots without much effort and still knew which lines he shouldn't cross.

Sherlock's vision became blurry when the pressure on his trachea increased. This dizziness was better than any cocaine-induced high and he already felt a big amount of blood rushing to his crotch.

He hadn't even realized that John had come closer, only a sharp little pain made him aware his boyfriend and master was suddenly torturing his earlobe with small bites as a low voice filled his head.

"I will release you know. You'll go to our bedroom. Undress your trousers, pants and socks but leave that white shirt on. I'll be with you in three minutes and you will be awaiting me on your hands and knees."

"Yes, Captain."

In an instant Sherlock was indeed free and made his way into the bedroom, following every instruction he just had received. He really wanted to make up for his bad behaviour this time.

Meanwhile the doctor rummaged through the box he kept in a cupboard he knew Sherlock hadn't touched in months. After a few seconds he found what he was looking for: a brand new black riding crop with a particular thin tip, a roll of bondage tape and a nice ball-gag. He went for the one with the white ball this time – the one matching Sherlock's shirt.

Of course the younger man heard his approach – the old floorboards made it impossible to walk silently – but John still felt the need to stress his entrance, his eyes glued to the butt of his lover sticking up into the air.

"Nice view. I see you've fulfilled your tasks. Maybe you will be a good slave some day.", he said in a voice dripping with lust and dominance.

Sherlock didn't dare to turn his head, instead he kept his gaze fixed on the headboard of their bed. He heard a noise he couldn't quite grasp and suddenly there was something around his ankles, some kind of tape, but not sticking to his skin.

"Bondage tape.", John explained, when he grabbed Sherlock's wrists, tying them together as well. "Quite useful when it comes to immobilising a slut like you."

A low 'thud' was heard when John let go of the tied up limbs and Sherlock fell face first into the pillow. The weight of his upper body was now supported only by his chest and face.

"You won't make a noise after that question. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain. But please..."

"Shh. Not. One. Noise."

Even the first blow delivered with the riding crop was hard and painful. But Sherlock kept his mouth shut. Another blow followed and then seven more. John admired his own work as the butt and thighs in front of him were already laced with puffed red lines.

"Only one more to go."

The tenth strike broke the delicate pale skin, a very small stream of blood now running down Sherlock's right thigh.

"I'm proud of you. Have you learnt your lesson yet? I don't think so. And I haven't even started properly yet."

John snatched lube and a couple of toys from the night stand. Without a warning he lubed up a cold metal plug and shove it into Sherlock's tight ass. Said man squirmed and shivered, torn between pain and desire for more.

"Better get used to that feeling, there won't be more preparation for you. But actually you should be thankful. A slut like you doesn't deserve any kind of preparation, you're just lucky I don't want to destroy your ass tonight."

The tip of the riding crop was drawn softly over every inch of exposed skin. It was a light tough but Sherlock knew all too well that it would turn into painful strikes sooner or later. He had to realise it was rather soon this time as a wave of agony washed through him. John delivered another blow to Sherlock's balls which were squeezed between the thighs. The sounds escaping the younger man were incredible: a sweet mixture of moans and groans and noises of pain. His dark curls were already sticking to his forehead, a glistening film of sweat covering his skin.

That was when John decided to spice things up a bit. He took the collar of Sherlock's shirt, yanking it back so the front of the button-front dug into the throat already strained from John's former grip on it. He was now kneeling right next to Sherlock, enjoying the view on his slave. With his free hand John managed to open his fly and push his trousers and pants down in a swift motion.

Sherlock tried to ease the pressure on his throat but failed miserably, so he was relieved when he felt John let go of his collar. When he turned his head up, he looked directly into stormy blue eyes before he heard a commanding voice.

"Open that filthy mouth of yours. Time to put it to good use."

Of course Sherlock obeyed and tried not to gag as he felt a big cock being shoved into his mouth while is head was kept steady by a strong grip on his curls.

"Yes. YES. Take it all in. A whore should be able to suck me off properly."

Closing his eyes Sherlock tried to remember everything he had learned in the last months. How John liked a special pace, how to make him almost explode with pleasure by playing with his frenulum, how to avoid hurting the sensitive head with his teeth. All of that Sherlock did while he tried to keep his upper body from tipping over. His ministrations were obviously successful as John was already moaning with pleasure after a couple of minutes.

"Enough. Though you have proved you're good enough to suck me off once in a while I'm rather thinking of fucking you senseless right now."

John vanished from Sherlock's field of vision and positioned himself behind that gorgeous ass that was his and only his. In a couple of seconds he pulled out the plug and replaced it with his cock. There was no real need for more lube as his cock was still wet with Sherlock's saliva.

"Hnghn." escaped Sherlock's throat when John started fucking him.

"Shut up."

"But..."

"Shut. Up." John said and reached around Sherlock's body to tug on his cock and balls in anything but a gentle way.

"Arghgrh... red. RED."

On any other day John would pull undo the restrains and take Sherlock into his arms. But this day was different. He let his thrusts become harder, took a fistful of the dark curls and yanked Sherlock's head back.

"John... I... jngh... said red."

"Yes, you did. But I don't care whether you're muttering names of colours or not. Just keep quiet while I fuck you, whore."

"John... please. Red. Red. Red. You're hurting me."

"That. The. Point!"

"But..."

John had enough. He pulled out and reached for the ball-gag, shoving the ball into Sherlock's open mouth and fastening the latch on the back. Grey eyes were widened in shock as Sherlock was turned over, now lying on his back with his hands still tied up.

"You think this is just a game? That you could control it by simply saying red? Oh, look at you how naïve you are."

Even though he didn't serve in the army any more, John was still rather strong and it was easy for him to rip Sherlock's shirt open, exposing the chest and pink nipples.

"I want to see your face when I destroy you. And you better keep your eyes open if you don't want to piss me off."

In an instant, he was inside Sherlock again, thrusting hard and deep while he pushed the long pale legs up and the side in an awkward angle. Loud cries tried to escape the tied up man's mouth but where muffled by the ball-gag fixed in place.

"Now look at your cock. It's all hard. Obviously you want that."

Sherlock shook his head violently.

"Don't act like that. God, you're so tight. But you're enjoying this as well."

John pinched one of the nipples, causing the man beneath him to buckle and squirm.

"Oh, does that hurt? Good. Because you need to see who's in charge here. I am. And you're at my mercy."

Another deep thrust and now John was aiming was his slave's prostate. He knew Sherlock's weak spot after all.

"Ha, your eyes. They're glistening. What are you going to do? Cry like a baby? Yes, cry all the way you want. That just makes me want to fuck you harder."

And that's exactly what he did. The thrusts were merciless and violent now. John knew he would get some bruises on his own hips probably but he couldn't care any less. Now and then he slapped Sherlock in the face, enjoying the way the cheeks were getting hotter with every blow and how the red shade got darker, emphasized by the shiny film of tears.

"I'd really like to draw this out, you know. Your ass feels quite nice after all. But I'm growing tired of fucking a worthless slut and I'm betting I can make you come this way. Wouldn't that be really humiliating? If you came just by me fucking you after you claimed you want me to stop? I think it would..."

John wanted to go on humiliating the man under him but suddenly he felt some warm liquid hitting his lower abdomen. Obviously Sherlock did really just come.

"Now that was quick" he mumbled, as he felt his own orgasm building up. A few more seconds of plunging into the now over-sensitive hole and John came while looking Sherlock straight into the eyes.

When the aftershocks had subsided, he pulled out slowly and rolled Sherlock onto his stomach. He untied the wrists and left the room without any further word, in desperate need for a shower.

Thirty minutes later John sat on the sofa, watching a new episode of Doctor Who. In the corner of his eye he noticed Sherlock slipping into the bathroom and some seconds later the low sound of running water filled the flat. John knew all he could do was wait now and he tried to keep his attention on the telly, but he caught himself watching the door every other second.

After five minutes that felt like an eternity for John, Sherlock appeared in the living room and sat down softly on the sofa, resting his head on John's shoulder. The older man planted a small kiss on the damp curls which smelled like fresh herbal shampoo.

"Thanks, John."

"You're welcome."

"I needed this. Though I've never thought you ignoring the safe word would be so intense."

"It was intense for me as well."

A short moment of silence filled the room before Sherlock spoke again.

"How about dinner?"

"I've already reserved a table at Angelo's. You've got fifteen minutes before we've gotta leave."

"You're amazing."

"I know."

"I think I'm starting to really really like you."

"I already really really like you."

"We're cheesy."

"Not as cheesy as Angelo's pizza."

Their chuckles grew into laughter, reverberating from the walls.

There still would be days when Sherlock wasn't be able to let go because of a case. But sometimes they would exchange looks and they new boundaries would be pushed this night.

Then again, boundaries didn't really matter any way when you lived with Sherlock Holmes.

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**Note: What I described here is called a tunnel game. This is nothing you should do with simply anybody, since it's quite risky and there needs to be a LOT of trust! As someone who likes BDSM very much I can only say: please only play safe, sane and consensual. Sorry for this motherly warning but it had to be said.**


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